Life for the Abused and the Underprivileged
Life is what you make it they say, but is it? Sometimes life makes you confused, frustrated or over whelmed without having much control over it. Some turn to alcohol or drugs and some just give up when life feels like it can’t get any worse.
Get a direction, focus your direction and get out there they say. But what if you are an adolescent who can not be responsible or channel a dream for one reason or another, then what? What if your life consisted of hunger, verbal abuse, sexual abuse, or physical abuse?
Instead of dreaming of tomorrow, the abused go to bed sometimes without enough to eat, adequate clothing, or just simply a safe bed to lay your weary head on.
Counting sheep is usually not an option when all you hear are your parents screaming, threatening each other and even possibly hearing bodies hitting the wall or floor. Pulling the covers over your head to drown out the noise; this is an everyday adventure and normality, so slumber eventually takes over.
The next day finally comes only to restart with an empty stomach, dirty clothes, and feeling that no one really wants you. Feeling stupid, and ugly, you face a room full of faces as you enter your classroom. Walking silently with eyes hidden and tears held back, you slide into your chair, hoping that you won’t have to borrow a pencil or a sheet of paper.
Teacher inquires about activities over the weekend to the class, and all you can think of is, “I truly hope no one hears my hunger rumble in the pit of my stomach.” Cupping your head with your hand and the other one around their stomach, wishing lunch time was here. Even though peanut butter wasn’t your favorite, a half of a sandwich sounded really great right now. Knowing it wouldn’t fill the stomach it still was going to be better than nothing.
Recess time! Instead of grouping with other girls, sullenly you go to the swings and just sit there hoping to disappear. But instead the girls, who haven’t experienced hunger before, came over to make fun of you. They comment on the clothing and the messy greasy hair. They even comment about odors that were surrounding you accusing you to smell of a farm yard. Then the girls would look at each other to confirm their conversations and plug their noses while walking away.
What those girls weren’t aware of is that you came from a family of six children and only one single bed. When it wasn’t your turn to sleep on it, then the floor had to do. In your house taking a shower had to be earned like an allowance and it wasn’t always with a bar of soap. Clean clothes, well that would be a luxury; clothes in general if you had more than one outfit would be wonderful.
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